I saw you in the clouds today.
I saw your hair, billowing outward
like dry ice sublimating in the sky
or the thick-whipped fog
of a waterfall's constant crash-landing.
I saw your body in the slopes and swirls
of the layered mist,
spanning the length of my vision
into the pink-orange remnants of daylight.
I saw you
in the clouds
where they puffed out their chests
daring to face the sun head-on
like the in-step drifting
of a hundred thousand young soldiers
ready to take the yellow miasma of the sun
and bayonet it into pristine strips of light
until it has form enough to be beautiful.
I saw you in the clouds the other day:
balled-up hands on your cheeks and jaw,
eyes open, head tilted,
and letting an occasional smirk break crumbles
into the sculpture-stare
of your day-dream gazing.
When interrupted, you drift back down
from the upper atmosphere
not fully reaching the surface, and your body,
until well after a conversation has started.
I saw you in the clouds today and I smiled.